


My Fear

by ophelianipples



Series: Mix tape [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Failwolf, M/M, Slow Dancing, Talk about feelings, but not too much bc they are emotionally constipated, derek has a thing for necks, they make out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelianipples/pseuds/ophelianipples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMUO5v4OTNM&spfreload=10</p>
<p>I could be true to you I swear<br/>Even the night is in the air<br/>With all the terrible things we've done<br/>Oh, I scared</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Fear

**Author's Note:**

> \- firstly, I don’t know what other schools do, but our high school had a year 12 formal (when everyone is about 18 years old) which is what they refer to in this  
> \- So this is essentially canon compliant, just set at the end of high school.

The loft is ready. Scott’s idea was actually pretty good; hopefully this time it won’t end with Kate Argent jumping through the window and kidnapping them. Haha. (But seriously, Derek touches wood when he thinks that. He tries to think of a worse thing to happen but, just, no. _No.)._

 

He dithers over what to wear for a few minutes, even though he knows what it’s going to be. Leather jacket, tight black jeans and a grey Henley, a throwback to when they first met. Stiles would laugh – well, more to the point, Derek would do almost anything to _make_ Stiles laugh. Which is fucking terrifying, but whatever. Moving on.

 

He puts some music on the iPod dock and checks the time. He still has an hour, so he plays Sims 2 on the desktop computer for a bit. The pack had long ago banned him from making mini versions of his family, Erica, Boyd, everyone who had left – but Stiles is alive, and Derek is alive, so nobody can judge him for designing their dream home.

 

His heart starts racing when he hears the familiar sound of the Jeep approaching. He shuts down the Sims and sits on the couch. Then stands in the kitchen. Then opens and closes the fridge - it’s almost a surprise when Stiles pounds on the door.

 

Derek breathes in for four beats, then out for four. He can do this.

 

“Hey, Sourwolf, lemme in!”

 

Derek slides open the door. Stiles is there, grinning, holding _flowers,_ wearing a suit with an obnoxious plaid tie. Who even does that?

 

“Oh my God, you dork! You’re wearing the friggin leather jacket and everything!?”

Stiles thrusts the massive bouquet at Derek, who promptly gets a stamen up his nose and sneezes violently.

 

Stiles cackles with laughter, but falters as he steps into the loft. Derek wipes his face on his sleeve and watches him anxiously, listening to his heartbeat speed up.

 

“This… Derek, this is kind of amazing,” Stiles finally blurts out. “I mean, how long did it take you to wire all these lights up? Holy shit! This is like, a _date,_ Ryan Gosling-style romantic _date,_ you – you – oh my god!?” He flails his hands around, grinning manically. His heart is _racing._

 

Derek fiddles with the flowers and a smile crosses his face, unbidden.

 

“I wanted to take you to your formal, but I think your teachers would have gotten me arrested,” he shrugs.

 

“Yeah, Coach would have been onto you. He always noticed you creeping on our lacrosse practices, used to call you Creepy McCreeperson.”

 

“Weren’t _you_ the one who called me that?”

 

“Nope, I called you Creepy McCreeper _wolf_ , it is a very important distinction!”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and goes looking for a vase for the flowers. Predictably, they end up in a bucket.

 

“Some things never change,” Stiles mutters. Derek growls at him out of habit, but makes a mental note to pick up a vase at some point; he’s determined to be a real functioning adult one day. Especially if he’s – but, no, he’s getting ahead of himself. Stiles will probably decide (realise) this is a terrible idea soon enough.

 

God, his therapist would not be happy with him right now. Maybe instead of wallowing in self-pity he should make conversation?

 

“How was the formal anyway?”

 

Stiles had taken Malia to the formal, even though they’d broken up a year ago. Malia was dating some girl now, so it wasn’t awkward at all. Or so they claimed.

 

“Yeah, it was good. We danced a lot,” Stiles scuffs his shoes against the floor. “I was half expecting something awful to happen, but it was fine. No rabid Alphas or anything. Quite an achievement for a school at the honest-to-God Hellmouth – gold star to Beacon Hills High.”

 

They grimace at each other for a second before Stiles slaps his hands together, breaking the silence.

 

“So, you gonna seduce me on the couch? The kitchen table? The bed?” He eyes the spiral staircase dubiously. “Assuming you _have_ a bed. You do have a bed, right?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes, then looks straight into Stiles’s big brown irises. “I’m going to seduce you on the kitchen table -”

 

He pauses just to watch Stiles’s eyes bug out and his mouth drop open.

 

“- by feeding you. The way to every man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”

 

Stiles splutters in indignation and his heart slows down, but Derek can still catch the musky scent of his arousal.

 

“Sit down,” he orders, and brings out some bread and dip. Stiles makes unintelligible noises of delight as he stares intently at Derek and stuffs his face. Derek wrinkles his nose in disgust and dips his pita bead in the beetroot dip with exaggerated care. His hands are shaking.

 

Derek waits; Stiles has never handled long silences very well, and sure enough he starts talking through a mouthful of bread and hummus.

 

“So, I mean –“ he swallows the food and starts licking hummus off his fingers. “I guess I kind of saw this coming, but – what, what exactly is it? Us, I mean?”

 

Derek stares at Stiles’s fingers as they disappear behind his tongue and into his mouth. Why does Stiles always make him feel grossed out but also horribly aroused?

 

“Dude, my eyes are up here,” Stiles smirks, shaking with laughter. Fucker. Derek plays the conversation back in his head and – oh. They’re already – okay. Shit. He just has to be a _mature adult_ about this -

 

“I – I like you.”

 

Stiles goes silent and still, listening. The tension in the air between them makes Derek want to fight something, or fuck something. Maybe both.

 

“Now that you’re – _legal_ , I thought. Well, I think we could be good. Together.”

 

_You know me better than anyone,_ Derek thinks, but the words don’t pass his lips. _Better than Cora, and Braeden, even, it’s only been two years and I trust you more than anyone._

 

Stiles is grinning, and it’s infectious. Derek feels his lips curl into a deranged grin.

 

“So you asked me on a date because –“

 

“At the time it seemed the logical thing to do,” Derek interrupts, because he hadn’t prepared for tonight with a Star Trek marathon for _nothing,_ okay?

 

Stiles laughs at that, throwing his head back, and he must _know_ how that exposes his the long pale line of his neck – what that _does_ to Derek – the bastard.

 

But, hey. Two can play at that game.

 

Derek wanders over to his iPod dock and clicks shuffle on his ‘slow dance’ playlist (named ‘random shit’ to avoid future public embarrassment). He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and refuses to think about just how much is riding on this moment. Instead he looks at Stiles, the way his suit shirt stretches across his shoulders and his dress pants cling to his ass.

 

The whole pack’s scents are layered over Stiles – they’d all danced with him tonight.

 

Now it’s Derek’s turn.


	2. The Only Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-J7J_IWUhls&spfreload=10
> 
> And I've always lived like this  
> Keeping a comfortable distance.  
> And up until now I have sworn to myself  
> That I'm content with loneliness.  
> Because none of it was ever worth the risk.  
> Well you are the only exception.

Stiles feels like he’s _buzzing._ Derek is looking at him across the room like he wants to _devour_ him, and it’s seriously unfair. He should not be so aroused by that. Especially with –

 

“Oh my God, is that _Paramore?”_

 

It turns out, angsty teen songs take on a new meaning when coupled with devastatingly hot 20-somethings.

 

Sadly, the man in question is still standing on the other side of the room.

 

“C’mon, Sourwolf – I don’t bite,” Stiles grins, because he is _always_ up for romantic slow dancing. Mostly when it’s Derek, actually, because it’s fucking hilarious. Derek Hale, slow dancing extraordinaire. Maybe he would do fancy twirls and flips. _Nobody puts Stiles in a corner_ – uh, no. That was terrible. Did he say that out loud?

 

“Hey,” Derek is suddenly in front of him. “You kind of zoned out there,” Derek says, and he’s _still_ not touching Stiles. Unacceptable.

 

Stiles reaches out, takes hold of Derek’s fingertips.

 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling slightly breathless, “I’ve been working on my brain-to-mouth filter. It takes a fair bit of concentration to keep the word-vomit in.”

 

Derek lets him have his fingertips, so Stiles takes his whole hand, then his forearm, dragging him closer.

 

“I don’t mind the word-vomit,” Derek mutters, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it – which, yeah, he probably should be.

 

Stiles suddenly has 80 kilos of muscled werewolf within his reach and doesn’t know what to do about it. “How about we stop talking about vomit and start dancing,” he whispers, relying on Derek’s werewolf senses to pick up the words - trying not to think about what _else_ they’re picking up.

 

He manages to get one hand on Derek’s shoulder and one on his waist before he realises his hands are _trembling._ Wow, Stiles, way to fulfil the stereotype. Next thing he’ll probably come in his pants completely untouched.

 

Shit, he hopes that doesn’t happen.

 

Derek lets out a surprisingly shaky breath and steps even closer to Stiles, slipping one hand around his waist and the other sliding up his back. The movement pushes Stiles’s arms to wrap around him completely, and he has to lean his head back a little if he doesn’t want his face in Derek’s neck.

 

(He totally does want his face in Derek’s neck, among other places. But that’s beside the point.)

 

“All good?” Derek asks, leaning in to speak right into his ear.

 

“God, yes, so good,” Stiles’s voice cracks as the tickling sensation on his earlobes sends shivers through his whole body. “You?”

 

Derek leans back to meet his eyes, smiling with those stupid adorable bunny teeth. “I’m good,” Derek replies, “I’m…”

 

“Scared? Me too,” Stiles muffles the words against Derek’s shoulder, embarrassed. That’s probably not even what Derek meant, ugh.

 

But Derek’s body relaxes against him, and Stiles hears a breathy “yeah,” and then this older, sexy-as-fuck werewolf is burying his head in Stiles’s neck and scent-marking him like a big freaking puppy.

 

Fucking shit, Stiles is in way too deep. Already. He misses having a crush on the unattainable Lydia – he misses his feelings for Malia, which were good, but he always knew they weren’t – well, it didn’t make him feel so _crazy._ This is – this is _intense._ He should’ve expected it; everything with them is always fucking intense.

 

But he _wants_ it. He doesn’t want to feel lonely, he wants this even if it’s just for one _stupidly romantic_ night (like, seriously, this was some Bella/Edward, Johnny/Baby, _next level shit_ ).

 

Stiles can’t help it – he laughs kind of hysterically, as they start dancing in slow circles, and stares up at the lights twinkling down at him. This is happening. Even if – even if it doesn’t last, there’s no going back now.

 

As soon as he’s stopped laughing he asks, “Can I – your neck?” and takes Derek’s low wordless rumble for an answer. He buries his face in Derek’s neck and breathes deep – he can admit that he’s picked up some weird habits from being around werewolves all the time, okay? Derek smells _good_ and he wants that _all over him._

 

They’re closer now, shuffling in circles, and Stiles’s hand is pressed in enough to feel the muscles in his back shifting. They kind of make him want to drool. When Derek stops scent marking him and starts to pull away, Stiles inadvertently whines at the sudden loss of heat. He blushes furiously as Derek chuckles ( _chuckles! Derek! Hale! Chuckles!)._

 

“Shut up,” he mutters petulantly, and, without thinking, bits down on Derek’s neck.

 

When his brain comes back online, his thoughts go something like this: Oh. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no I just bit a werewolf who was once and _Alpha_ on the neck ooooh fucking shit –

 

“Stiles –“

 

“Shit – I’m so sorry – “ Stiles pulls his hands away from Derek, trying to squirm out of his grasp. But he won’t – let – go –

 

 _“Stiles –“_ he was breaking out the (non)threatening growl, Stiles was so fucked, “can you – can you do that again?”

 

Stiles froze. Do it again? He leaned back, deliberately caught Derek’s eyes. His pupils were huge, reflecting the stupid hanging light things prettily.

 

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

 

Derek definitely blushes, and oh shit, Stiles is a goner. He feels slightly lightheaded, probably from all the blood rushing to his dick – and when Derek nods he lets out an honest-to-God _moan_ and licks a stripe up Derek’s neck. The whimper Derek lets out in response really just ruins Stiles for everyone else, holy shit. He wants to hear that again and _again._ So he breathes lightly across Derek’s ear and then licks carefully down the shell of it, feeling Derek shiver; he nips the earlobe once, then attacks the sensitive spot just behind it with his tongue, Derek gasping for breath. He licks firmly at the stubbly edge of Derek’s jawline, before sucking and biting all the way down to his shoulder, and Derek clings to his ass and upper back like they’re keeping him from floating away.

 

Stiles catches his breath at Derek’s collarbone before he pulls away, squeezing Derek’s ass with his left hand.

 

Derek lowers his chin from where he’d basically presented his whole throat to Stiles – shit, that was hot – and brings a hand up to cup Stiles’s cheek.

 

They’re both grinning like friggin loons, they’re _staring into each other’s eyes,_ and Stiles would be gagging if he was watching this but it’s kind of perfect from this vantage point. And then they both lean in and – okay, Stiles needs to catalogue this for future, ahem, _use_ because – _fuck yeah._

 

Derek pauses to lick his lips before they both close the distance, and they fit together nicely, smoothly. Derek’s lips are warm and surprisingly tentative – but that’s cool, Stiles is up for some lazy kissing, so he mouths at Derek’s lips and gets accustomed to the tickling edge of his stubble.

They keep at it until they need to breathe, and Stiles huffs out a laugh when they break apart.

 

“What’s so funny?” Derek asks, his voice low and blissed out.

 

“Nothing, nothing - it’s my standard response to weird situations – not that this is weird, this is awesome, I think we should do that again like right now –“

 

Derek cuts him off by licking into his mouth, their teeth clicking together momentarily before Stiles retaliates – sucking Derek’s lower lip between his own lips and nipping at it before letting it go, and Derek moans into his mouth, and keeps holding Stiles up when he feels weak at the knees, _fuck -_

 

Stiles’s brain-to-mouth filter may be slightly handicapped because he finds himself saying, “I think we both deserve something good, dude, and this is definitely good, like _unf, so good,_ so can we please take it to the bedroom?”

 

Derek is sucking marks into Stiles’s neck and he lets go with a pop, grumbles “I thought you’d never ask.” He steps away from Stiles and gestures up the spiral staircase, his gaze – there really isn’t another word for it – _hungry._

Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.


End file.
